


Skydiving

by Earperpuff18



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Eventual Sex, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, POV First Person, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:55:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29159244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earperpuff18/pseuds/Earperpuff18
Summary: Waverly's never been much of a risk-taker, but her new friendship with a flirty redheaded police officer is making her wonder: What would it be like to step away from her safe and slightly boring life, and take a chance on Nicole?A non-supernatural AU Wayhaught romance with alternating first person POVs between Nicole and Waverly.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 11
Kudos: 120





	1. First Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've written fic before, but never had the courage to post before now, so I hope you enjoy! If you like it and think I should write something more, let me know. Thanks!
> 
> The chapters switch between Waverly and Nicole first person POVs, so the top of each chapter tells you who the narrator is.

** POV: Waverly **

“Four shots of whiskey.” I look up to see my sister grinning at me from across the bar.

“Four?” I ask, though I start pouring them for her anyway. For Wynonna, four shots of whiskey is next to nothing. “You must have big plans for tonight.”

“ _We_ have big plans. Two for me, and two for you.”

“I’m working, Wynonna.”

“For how much longer?” I sigh. My shift is over in a few minutes, and a drink does sound nice after hours of serving them. “Come on,” She says, blue eyes twinkling. “You know you want to.”

“Fine.” We each pick up a shot, clink our glasses together, drink, and repeat. I can admit that I feel calmer as I put the second glass down. I’ve been way too busy recently: going to classes, studying, and working here at Shorty’s in my free time. Looking up at Wynonna, I can tell this was her way of trying to help me relax.

“Thanks,” I tell her. “You were right, I needed that.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started, Waves.”

“I have class in the morning tomorrow. I can’t—”

“We can’t let the whiskey go to waste! We have to have a good time now—that’s the rule.”

“The rule of what?” Wynonna starts to answer when my boss, Shorty, comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Your shift’s over, kid. Go have a night out with your sister.”

“Yes!” Wynonna turns her grin to Shorty. “Listen to Shorty, he knows what he’s talking about.” I look between the two of them, both smiling encouragingly, and decide to relent.

“Okay, but we have to be home by one.”

“We’ll see,” Wynonna says, pulling me out from behind the bar. We say goodnight to Shorty and head out onto the street together. Outside, she stops, looking around for an idea.

“So?” I ask her. “What do you want to do?”

“Hmm…” Suddenly her eyes land on a motorcycle right parked outside of Shorty’s. “Look! Some idiot left their keys on the seat.” She runs over and grabs the keys before I even have time to process what she’s doing.

“Wynonna! We can’t just steal someone’s—”

“We’re not gonna _steal_ anything. We’ll just borrow it for a bit.” Wynonna settles onto the bike and dangles the keys in front of me.

“Are you—”

“Brilliant? Yes. C’mon, we’ll bring it back.” I hesitate for a moment. Making impulsive decisions is Wynonna’s specialty, but it’s never been easy for me. It’s something I’ve always admired about her, but that doesn’t change the fact that this seems like a _really_ bad idea.

“You know I want to take more risks, but does it have to be an _illegal_ risk?”

“It’ll be fine. This is just for fun, we’re not gonna get in any trouble.” I take a step towards the bike, deciding to just go for it, when I hear a voice calling from behind me.

“Why do I have a feeling that’s not your bike?” I turn around to see a cop approaching us in the distance.

“Shit! Spoke _way_ too soon.” Wynonna exclaims, getting off the motorcycle and grabbing my arm. “C’mon, baby girl. We gotta go.” She tries to pull me away, but, for some reason—maybe fear, maybe my natural inclination towards rule following, maybe something else—I feel like I couldn’t move even if I tried. As the cop nears, Wynonna tugs on my arm harder, but I just stand and stare. The cop comes into the light of a nearby streetlamp, stops, and takes off her Stetson. I’ve seen her around a couple times before, but we’ve never met. She must be new in town, I suppose, considering I know just about everybody in Purgatory. She’s tall (or tall to _me_ , at least), with red hair and brown eyes. Brown eyes that suddenly shift and look right into mine.

I open my mouth to say something—I have absolutely no idea what—when she smiles. Dimples appear in her cheeks and I can feel myself smiling back without meaning to.

“Hi,” I hear myself say.

“Hey,” She responds. Her gaze shifts to Wynonna, the motorcycle, then back to Wynonna. Suddenly, I remember where I am, what we were just about to do, and the fact that the cop I’ve been staring at like an idiot is probably about to arrest us—Shit. “Is that your bike?” She asks.

“No,” Wynonna replies immediately. “We were just looking.”

“Right, of course.” The cop looks like she’s about to laugh as she gestures to Wynonna’s hand, which still holds the keys she found. “So you were _just looking_ at those keys, too?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that definitely makes sense.” She pauses, looks to me, then back to Wynonna. “Why don’t you go give them back to their owner, then?” She gestures to Shorty’s. Wynonna rolls her eyes and laughs but starts to head inside anyway.

“Of course, _officer_.” She disappears inside and the cop looks back to me.

“Hi,” She says again.

“Hi.” I feel a sudden urge to confess anything and everything to this woman with the warm brown eyes and adorable dimples. “We—we were just going to—”

“It’s fine,” She cuts me off, still smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She nods, coming a couple steps closer.

“I’ve seen you around before. Waverly, right?”

“That’s me.”

“You come highly recommended.” She gives me a smile that makes my stomach tighten and leaves me at a loss for words.

“I—I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means people here have nothing but nice things to say about you.” She extends a hand to shake and I take it. “I’m Nicole.”

“Waverly Earp.”

“Haught.”

“I—What?” I pull my hand away, suddenly feeling self-conscious about how long I’d been shaking her hand.

“That’s my last name. Nicole Haught.”

“Oh.” I laugh a little, and she joins me. “Sorry, I thought you meant—I don’t know—something else.”

“No worries. I get that a lot.” I nod, trying to think of what to say next, but she gets there first. “That was your sister, right? Wynonna?”

“Yeah.”

“She and my partner are friends, I think.”

“Oh? Do you mean officer Dolls?” She nods.

“Are he and your sister dating? I can never tell.”

“Really?” I laugh. “Me neither. Wynonna doesn’t really do long term relationships, but they definitely spend a lot of time together.”

“What about you?” She asks.

“What about me?”

“What kind of relationships do you do?”

“Oh—I—my boyfriend and I have been together for a few years.” Her smile dims for a moment, and I feel mine do the same. Champ—my boyfriend—and I have been together since high school, but sometimes that feels like a lifetime ago. “He’s on the road a lot. Like all the time. He competes in rodeos.” I find myself babbling but can’t seem to stop. “So I don’t see him very often. Which is good! I mean, not _good_ , but it’s fine. I just mean, it would be a lot if he was here all the time, you know?” She nods slowly, smiling again.

“Sounds like a fun guy.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you ever need a change of pace, just let me know.”

“I—what?” Wynonna bursts out of Shorty’s suddenly, and I can tell she had another shot or two while she was in there.

“I returned the keys to their owner, like the model citizen I am.”

“I’m sure,” Nicole says. “Well, have a nice night.” She looks back to me. “And it was very nice to meet you, Waverly.” She flashes her dimples at me one last time and turns around, walking away down the street. That smile makes my heart flip, like it’s skydiving in my chest.

“You too!” I call after her, remembering myself. Wynonna turns to me, whisper-yelling:

“Damn, Waves. You just flirted us right out of trouble.”

“I wasn’t _flirting_ , Wynonna.” Why do I feel like I’m lying? I wasn’t flirting. I think. We were just chatting. I was being nice. And I liked her—Nicole. She seemed kind and witty and…captivating.

“Right,” Wynonna says, like she’s humoring me. I open my mouth to deny it again but can’t seem to find the words.

“Let’s just go home,” I tell her.

“No, c’mon, let’s go somewhere—”

“I have morning class, Wynonna. I’m gonna go.”

“Ugh. Fine. Let’s go home.” As we walk, Wynonna tells me about her day, something about meeting with a new guy, but I don’t really hear it. I want to say that I can’t understand my preoccupation with meeting Nicole, but I’m not that clueless. I…liked her. I was _attracted_ to her. I’ve had moments like this before, moments of sudden connection, but never quite like this. It felt special.

“You are so not listening to me,” Wynonna accuses.

“Sorry, sorry, what were you saying?” She restarts her story, and I try to push the image of the sweet, flirty, dimpled cop to the back of my mind.


	2. Vanilla-Dipped Doughnuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly and Nicole become friends over doughnuts and drinks at Shorty's, but Nicole wonders whether she can handle staying just friends.

** POV: Nicole **

“Do we have to stop here?” Dolls asks as we exit our cruiser. “I hate all the cop-doughnut jokes.” 

“Yes, we do.” I tell him, because I know he wants the doughnuts as much as I do. “Because they’re amazing. Come on.” We walk into Purgatory’s best doughnut shop. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, enjoying the scent of freshly baked pastries.

“Nicole?” I open my eyes. Waverly Earp—smiling at me from just a few feet away.

“Hi. Waverly.”

“Hi,” She says, looking up at me. I’ve been thinking about her a lot since we met outside the bar last week. The way she took time to choose every word she said to me, then babbled when she got nervous. The smile that spread across her face and crinkled her eyes like she didn’t quite know why but couldn’t stop. The unfortunate mention of a boyfriend.

She was sweet, funny, and beautiful. Also taken and, for all I know, straight, but I felt something special there regardless.

She’s in line ahead of us so I take a step closer, taking my spot behind her—and then another, just to be a little closer.

“Here to _just look_ at someone else’s doughnuts?” I mean it as a joke, but—as she cringes and lowers her eyes to floor—I immediately feel like shit for making it.

“Uh, no. Here to buy. Pay with my own money, I swear.”

“Sorry, I—”

“No, I mean, you have pretty good evidence—”

“I don’t _actually_ think you would steal something,” I interject, and she turns her gaze back up to me. “I was joking.”

“Oh. Well, good. I was afraid you’d think that was, I don’t know, _normal_ for me. It’s really not.”

“I didn’t think that. Not at all.” She smiles, the crinkles around her eyes reappearing.

“Good,” She whispers, so quiet I almost don’t hear. I smile back.

“Hey, Waverly,” Dolls says, after a moment.

“Hi, Dolls. Sorry, didn’t see you there.” The person in front of Waverly gets their doughnuts, and the cashier beckons her to the counter. She flashes us a quick smile and wave and steps away.

“So, that’s why we’re here?” Dolls asks under his breath. I give him a look and shake my head.

“I didn’t know she would be here.”

“But you’re definitely not upset about it.”

“Not _upset_ , no.”

“Hmm.” Dolls isn’t really the type to joke around, but I can sense amusement in his ever-stoic expression. Waverly receives a small pastry bag from the cashier and turns to leave.

“What did you get?” I ask before she goes.

“Vanilla-dipped. They’re my favorite.”

“Really? Me too.” She smiles, turns to go, then turns back.

“Hey, we should get a drink or something sometime.” I feel my eyebrows raise in surprise as she speaks. “I mean, we keep running into each other—or just the two times I guess—but you can never have enough friends, right?”

“I’d love to,” I tell her, though I’m more disappointed by the word ‘friends’ than I admit.

“Great. We can, um…” She seems at a loss for words, so I take a pen from my pocket and gesture to the pastry bag in her hands.

“Can I?”

“Oh. Sure.” She hands me the bag and I write my number on it.

“There,” I tell her, returning the bag. “See you soon, Waverly.” She nods, studying my handwriting for a moment before she turns her gaze back to mine.

“Yeah. Soon.”

She leaves and I turn back to Dolls.

“A dozen vanilla-dipped, then?” He asks, an almost-smile on his face.

“Hell yeah.”

**…**

That night I decide to meet up with some other officers at Shorty’s for an after-work drink. Dolls and I walk in together, talking about starting game of pool, when I catch sight of Waverly behind the bar. She’s wearing the same Shorty’s shirt she had on when we first met, and her smile brings me back to the way she laughed when I told her my last name.

“I’ll go find someone else for that game, then,” Dolls says, after a moment.

“What? I—”

“Have fun, Haught.” I think about following him as he walks away towards the pool table, but we both know that’s not really why I’m here. I walk over and grab a barstool. Waverly looks up and I catch her eye.

“Nicole,” She says, coming up to me. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What can I get you?” She’s smiling—it seems like she’s pretty much always smiling—but there’s something else behind her smile tonight. She seems tired. Not I-didn’t-get-enough-sleep-last-night tired, but I’ve-been-working-really-hard-and-need-a-fucking-break tired.

“Everything okay?” I ask, instead of answering her question.

“Yes?” She’s still smiling, but a little furrow appears on her forehead. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem like you could use some time for yourself.” She sighs and her smile drops just a little.

“Honestly, yes, I could.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” She asks, swinging a dish towel over her shoulder for emphasis.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“You’re sweet. It’s just been a bad day.”

“What happened?” She shrugs.

“Nothing, really. Class, researching for my thesis, and working here. Just one of those days where it feels like I’m doing all this work and nothing’s really happening, you know?” I nod. “I mean, I love my life, but sometimes I get a bit bored, I guess.”

“I can understand that.” She laughs.

“You’re a _cop_. That has to be exciting.”

“There’s definitely a surprising amount of crime for such a tiny town.”

“That sounds like Purgatory.” She still seems a bit down, so I decide to shift the conversation to the topic I’m really interested in—her.

“So you go to Purgatory University?”

“Yeah. I’m in my last year.”

“What do you study?”

“History. I love history. Especially anything having to do with this area. I know it’s small and pretty unimportant, really, but so much more happened here than you would think. Especially in the old west.”

“Earp history, huh?”

“Exactly. There’s so much of it, and it’s all so exciting.” She cringes and laughs a little at herself. “Sorry, this probably isn’t all that interesting. Especially to someone who’s actually been places that aren’t here.”

“It’s totally interesting. I think Purgatory’s a really special place.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. I’ve always been interested in that stuff, too. Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and everything.”

“Oh I did a presentation on Doc Holliday last week!” Her eyes light up as she talks about it, and I can’t stop staring. “It was _amazeballs_. My professor loved it. He’s probably the biggest Doc Holliday fan ever—he actually goes by Doc, too. I swear, if it wasn’t completely impossible, I’d think he was, like, a reincarnation of him or something.”

“I bet you make some kickass presentations.”

“Well, I love making them. Putting in transitions and wipes and everything.” She catches my gaze and snaps out of the history-induced haze she’s been it. “Sorry. I’ll stop talking about Powerpoint now.”

“I really don’t mind, Waverly.” She smiles, and I hope I’ve successfully put her at ease. “You clearly love it.”

“I do. History is…it’s like magic, you know? So much of it is so unbelievable it makes you wonder if it really could have happened. But it did. It’s real-life magic. To me, at least. It’s all the stuff you read about and you know you’ll never get to live yourself, but you can still be close to it that way.”

“I don’t know about that. I can see you making history.” She laughs.

“Now you’re just being nice. And I have been talking and doing absolutely no work. Do you want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

Luckily for me, Shorty’s is pretty empty, so, beyond making the occasional drink, Waverly gives her time to me for the next couple hours. We talk about our favorite music, why I moved to purgatory, Waverly’s cheerleader days, and so much more. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a date. But I do know better, and every time she steps away to serve a customer, I’m reminded that we’re talking because I showed up at her workplace, and not because she asked me out for a drink. I’m quickly learning that she’s possibly the nicest person I’ve ever met. She treats everyone she talks to like a good friend. When a couple less-than-polite customers get their drinks without a please or thank you, Waverly still smiles at them like they’ve tipped her a hundred dollars. But every time I start to feel like maybe she’s just treating me how she treats everyone else, she comes right back to me with a sparkle in her eyes and a story she remembered that she thinks I’ll find funny.

When her shift is almost over, her sister comes in to ask to borrow her car.

“Where’s your bike?” Waverly asks her.

“I can’t remember where I parked it.” I remember a story Waverly told me twenty minutes ago about Wynonna losing her motorcycle and finding it a week later buried in snow behind a strip club. I laugh a little and Wynonna turns to me, an eyebrow raised in question.

“As long as it’s _your_ bike, Earp,” I tell her. She narrows her eyes at me and turns back to Waverly.

“I’ll bring it back in an hour.”

“My shift’s over in two minutes, Wynonna.”

“I can drive you home,” I cut in. Wynonna looks down at the beer I’ve been nursing for the past two hours (I don’t have the highest alcohol tolerance) and then gives me an appraising once-over.

“Really?” Waverly asks. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. I’d be happy to.” I address this next part to Wynonna. “And I’ve only had the one beer.”

“Haught, right?” Wynonna asks.

“Yeah.” I extend a hand and she shakes it with a strong grip.

“Cops aren’t usually my kind of people.”

“No, really?” I joke.

“You want to give my baby sister _a ride home_ , huh?” Wynonna gives me an intimidating glare, but she seems genuinely intrigued. Dolls has mentioned a lot of people think Waverly’s way too good for her boyfriend, Champ, and I wonder if Wynonna thinks the same.

“She’s my friend, Nonna,” Waverly cuts in. “Give her a break.” Wynonna rolls her eyes and asks:

“Whiskey for the road?”

“Not if you’re taking my car,” Waverly says, taking her keys out of her pocket and dangling them in front of her sister.

“Ugh. Fine.” She grabs the keys from Waverly’s hand. “Thanks, baby girl.” She turns to leave and calls over her shoulder: “Get her home safely, Haught.”

“Try not to lose her car, Earp.” She raises a middle finger towards me as she leaves.

“She’s teasing,” Waverly says. “Which is kinda default Wynonna.”

“I can handle it.” She smiles.

“I don’t doubt that for a second.” She tells Shorty she’s heading home and we head out to my car. “I’ve never been in a police car before,” She admits.

“I am not shocked by that.” She laughs.

“Are you forgetting how we met?”

“You said _you’ve_ never been in one, not Wynonna.” As we settle in and I start the car, I notice the smile drop from her face a bit. “Everything okay?” I ask. “I can turn the heat up? Or down?”

“No, no. Well, actually yes, I’m kind of cold.” I turn the heat up even though it’s already blasting.

“I just—” She cuts herself off, thinks for a moment, then starts again. “I hope you don’t think too badly of Wynonna. She’s not, like, a bad person or something. She’s the best ever, really. She’s just not as…cautious as she could be sometimes.”

“I don’t think badly of her.”

“I’m just saying I understand if you don’t have the best impression of her. I mean, the day we met wasn’t really—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Waverly. I like Wynonna.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Good.” She smiles so big her eyes crinkle and I have to force myself to look away and focus on the road. She hums along to the radio and I feel my smile match hers.

If making her smile makes me feel this good, I wonder how making her moan would feel.

But I can’t think about that. Because it is not even remotely an option. She’s made a point to call me her ‘friend’ more than once and I have no reason to think otherwise. Well, that’s not completely true. There’s the look I’ve seen in her eyes multiple times that I can’t seem to read as anything other than attraction. There’s the way she opened up to me today as if we’ve been friends for years. There’s the connection between us that pulls me to her like gravity. I would never want to be anything resembling a homewrecker, but I just don’t believe it’s one-sided.

Between directions towards her home, she starts to sing along quietly to the radio. Her voice is low, melodic, and entrancing.

“You have a great voice,” I tell her.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I just love that song.”

“Why are you sorry? Honestly, you sound amazing.” She laughs, but I can hear the nerves in her voice.

“Well, that’s nice of you to say.” She’s staring down at her hands in her lap. I decide to risk being too presumptuous, and guess:

“You’re not comfortable singing around people.”

“No, not usually.”

“Well—other than the fact that I think you sound great—I promise I’m not judging.” She turns her gaze to me and her eyes seem to glow in the dark car.

“I’m getting that,” She says quietly. She turns away again, and we sit in silence for the next few minutes. The song changes and Waverly begins to sing along quietly again. I glance over to see her, eyes closed, head tilted back a little against the headrest.

I feel the meaning in this gesture—the tentative yet free way she sings—so acutely it almost hurts. She’s telling me she’s comfortable with me—or at least that she wants to be. And sitting here, stealing looks at her as often as I can without crashing the car, that’s all I want too.

She directs me through the final couple turns to her house, which she says she and Wynonna call ‘the homestead’. I park in front and get out to walk her to the door.

“Thanks again for taking me home,” She tells me.

“Of course.” We arrive at the door, but instead of moving to go inside, Waverly turns to look at me. She doesn’t say anything, and we stand there in silence for a minute. It’s not a comfortable silence, but it’s not an awkward one either. It just feels like waiting. Is she waiting for me to say something? To do something? Should I kiss her? How would she react?

I say the first thing that comes to my mind: “You really are a beautiful singer.” She smiles at me, but still says nothing. So I just keep talking: “Also just…really beautiful.” I don’t feel like I really chose to tell her that, but it’s true and I don’t think I could regret it if I tried. I feel my breath catch and see her throat move as she swallows. Should I say more? I start to, but stop when she opens her mouth. Thank god. I need her to say something, to tell me what she’s thinking.

But she just laughs a little. Not teasingly, but awkward and unsure, like there are no words available to her and a breathless laugh was all she could find.

“That’s, um—” She cuts herself off and shakes her head like she doesn’t know what to say. “Well, I guess I should go inside, and let you go. Thanks again for driving me, sorry you had to go so far out of your way.”

“No, I—It’s fine,” I say, because even though there are a million other thoughts running through my head, I’m terrified that saying them will make her uncomfortable.

“Goodnight, Nicole.”

“Goodnight.” She goes inside with a quick little wave.

Well. I guess that does tell me what she was thinking, in a way. It just wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

I go back to my car and drive home, the music wafting from the radio torturing me with the memory of Waverly’s excited, nervous, and yet totally comfortable smile as she sang just inches away from me.

I can be friends with her. It won’t be _easy_ , I’m realizing, but I can manage it. I think. I hope.


	3. A Dream of Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly spends the day at Nicole's, meeting Calamity Jane and watching Golden Girls. Waverly has a dream, and her attraction for Nicole grows.

** POV: Waverly **

Saturdays are my favorite day of the week. Every week, I sleep in just a little bit, make myself vegan waffles and pot of tea, and spend the day relaxing and lazily doing some schoolwork. Today I really need to make some progress on my thesis, but I’m determined not to let it be any less relaxing. I’m a little less well-rested than I’d like to be, because Wynonna had a guy over last night and the walls in our house are painfully thin. I come downstairs, but find Wynonna sipping coffee in the kitchen alone.

“Your gentleman friend still here?” I ask, but she shakes her head.

“He left.”

“Good. No offense, but I really need some peace and quiet today.” She shoots me a sorry-not-sorry smile.

“He left to get us breakfast, actually.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll try to be quiet.” I raise an eyebrow at her in question.

“Really?”

“I mean, quiet’s a relative term.” I sigh. I was really hoping for a quiet day to get some work done. “It’s okay, baby girl, I have the perfect solution for this,” She tells me, a mischievous smile on her face that makes me doubt her advice will be all that helpful. “You can have someone over tomorrow. Then we’ll be even.” I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, I’d need to be having sex for that to happen.”

“Champ not putting out for you?” She asks with mock concern.

“He’s barely in town long enough.”

“Ohhhh is that why I’ve noticed a distinct lack of tattooed douchebro here recently?”

“ _Wynonna_.” I give her a glare, but she meets it right back.

“Waverly. C’mon, baby girl, you can’t tell me you’re really still happy with him. High school’s over, and that kid’s still the same immature little dick.” She realizes what she’s said and smiles. “With a _very_ little di—”

“I get it, Wynonna.” She laughs. I know Wynonna’s never liked Champ, so I don’t talk to her about him much, but I _really_ need some advice. “It’s not that simple, though.” She must hear the worry in my voice, because her trademark joking grin wavers a little.

“Why not?” She asks.

“We’ve been together for so long.”

“That’s not a reason to stay with him if you’re not happy.”

“I know, but…”

“There are way better options out there, you know?” My phone rings suddenly and I pull it out of my pocket.

Nicole.

Even just the sight of her name on my phone makes my heart start beating faster. We’ve become closer over the last few weeks, seeing each other every few days and exchanging random thoughts and stories over text. I can now confidently call her my friend. Well, except for the fact that every time I do call her my friend, that night out on the porch comes back to me. It feels like so long ago now, yet I replay it in my head all the time.

The quiet way she called me beautiful, which felt more like hearing a thought from inside her head than words spoken aloud. The honest, open, nervous-yet-excited look in her eyes which felt almost adoring. The inches of space between us she slowly but steadily erased with every passing moment.

But then there are the inches of space between us that were never crossed. The confused, halfway hurt look on her face when I’d laughed. The sad, resigned way she said goodnight, like she didn’t know how we’d gotten there.

I’m not completely clueless. I know friendship isn’t the only thing Nicole feels for me. And it’s definitely not the only thing I feel for her, either. But every time I think back to that night it goes the same way. All the excitement—the beautiful anticipation of hoping she might kiss me, the way I felt more turned on by a single look from her than an entire night with Champ—gets overshadowed by the memory of all-consuming fear. And then I can only think about all the reasons not to act on my growing feelings: my boyfriend of almost five years, having to finally admit that I’m not straight, the fact that—even if I got the chance—I’d have no idea how to be with a woman.

I know my relationship with Champ doesn’t make me happy in the way it should, but it’s safe. If my attraction for Nicole is this overwhelmingly strong now, how terrifying would it be to act on it?

“Are you gonna answer that?” Wynonna asks, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I answer the phone and take a couple steps away from my sister, feeling a sudden need for privacy.

“Nicole?”

“Hey, Waverly.” Her voice hits me square in the chest, and my eyes flutter closed, as if shutting out the room around me will bring me closer to her.

“Hey.”

“Do you want to do something today? I have the day off and I’m already _so_ bored.”

“I’d love to, but I really have to get some studying done.”

“Oh, okay.” She sounds as disappointed as I feel. Suddenly, an idea pops into my head. “Well, I’ll let you go then.”

“Wait!” I say, a little too loudly. I can feel Wynonna watching me curiously, but I press on. “If it’s not too much trouble—I mean, if it sounds fun to you, maybe I could come over? Wynonna’s having someone over here so I’m not sure how much studying I’d be able to get done, anyway. I would need to do some work, but not too much. We could have lunch and maybe watch a movie or something?”

“That sounds great.”

“Really? I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re never intruding. Plus, I have some paperwork I should get done, too.”

“Awesome. Cool. I can’t wait.” Her low laughter slides into my ear.

“Me neither. I’ll text you my address. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

“You have a cat?”

“I do.”

“I will be there as soon as humanly possible, then.” She laughs again and my smile feels too big for my face.

“See you soon, Waves.”

“See you soon.” I hang up and turn to find Wynonna looking at me, eyebrows raised.

“Soooo…” She draws the word out, waiting for me to say something more.

“What?”

“Gonna go play with Haught’s pussycat?”

“Leaving now,” I tell her, going to look for my keys and grab my purse.

“She struck me as a cat person, you know.” I feel my cheeks heat and stuff everything I need into my purse in double time.

“I’m all good on commentary, thanks.”

“I wonder if her cat’s a redhead, too?”

“ _Goodbye_ , Wynonna.” I head for the door, but her voice stops me.

“Wait. Waves.”

“What? You have another joke?” I turn around to find a surprisingly sincere look on her face.

“I just want to say…I don’t care if you’re a _cat person_ , you know. I thought you were a dog person, but if that’s not true, that’s totally okay. Maybe you’re both! Or something else. Maybe you like hamsters, or fish, or nothing, or…or maybe I’m totally off base. But whatever you are, I promise, no judgement from me.” I smile at her, grateful, but still nervous to hear her get so close to saying something so true.

“I know, Nonna. Thank you.”

“Of course. Dinner tonight?”

“Sure.” I move towards the door, but it opens before I can get to it. It’s Dolls, carrying two coffees and a pastry bag.

“Oh. Dolls. Hi.” I give Wynonna a look and a wiggle of my eyebrows over my shoulder.

“Waverly,” Dolls says, giving me a nod.

“I’m just heading out,” I assure him, and walk through the door as he holds it open for me.

“Have fun with Haught!” Wynonna calls after me.

“I will!”

“And her cat!” The door closes behind me and I shake my head. Wynonna may not be the most _tactful_ person, but she’s a damn good sister.

When I arrive at Nicole’s adorable blue house, I suddenly feel a bit nervous, like when I was seventeen, before my first few dates with Champ, when I thought maybe that would turn into something magical. I ring the doorbell, trying to ignore the butterflies causing a storm in my stomach. But when she opens the door, I’m struck by how _normal_ she looks. Not that she doesn’t look good—she looks so beautiful my breath catches—but she also looks like Nicole, and that is a sight I’ve begun to feel accustomed to. Even though I’m still nervous, her presence is as calming to me as it is exciting. Seeing her looking comfortable and at home in a green-and-white flannel and jeans makes my fingers tingle with anxious energy—it makes me want to reach out and see if the flannel is as soft as it looks, if _her skin_ is as soft as it looks—but it also just makes me smile. For all my nerves, she makes me feel safe.

“Hi,” She says, a dimple popping out as she smiles.

“Hi.”

“Come on in.” Her house is as adorable on the inside as the outside. I can tell immediately that she’s organized and tidy, noting the pairs of boots lined up neatly by the door and the hook next to the coat rack that holds what appears to be climbing equipment. I ask her about it and she confirms:

“Oh, yeah, I love rock climbing. Have you ever tried it?” I laugh, shaking my head.

“This is a little embarrassing, but I’m not great with heights.”

“You should try it sometime, it’s exhilarating.” I turn to her to tell her I just don’t think it’s for me, but find myself nodding when I meet her gaze. “I could teach you sometime. I’m certified, actually.”

“Maybe,” I say, turning to look around the rest of her house. I run my fingers over the dark wooden frames of a series of pictures of the ocean, and she tells me the stories behind each one. I turn to ask her about a photograph of a canyon on the opposite wall when I feel something against my ankles. I look down to see a fluffy ginger cat looking up at me. I blush when I remember what Wynonna said about Nicole’s cat being a redhead, but mask it by leaning down to pet the sweet creature winding around my ankles.

“This is Calamity Jane,” Nicole tells me. “Or just Calamity. She’s very friendly.”

“Hi there,” I whisper to Calamity, eliciting a purr as I pet her.

“She likes you.”

“Well, I like you back, Calamity.”

“Do you want some tea?” Nicole asks.

“Sure.” Nicole goes into the next room, which I assume is her kitchen, but I stay, still softly petting Calamity behind the ears. She looks up at me, golden eyes wide open, and meows. I get the strange feeling that she’s asking me a question. “I like your mom too,” I tell her. “A lot.”

“What did you say?” Nicole calls from the other room.

“Nothing!” I return, giving Calamity a final pet before I get up to go join Nicole. “Just chatting with Calamity.”

Nicole shows me around the rest of her house as we wait for the kettle to boil. The kitchen is cute and clean, the living room is homey and comfortable, the gauzy blue curtains all around let in just the right amount of natural light.

“This is my room,” She tells me as we walk into a cozy bedroom at the top of a flight of stairs. I glance around, taking in the personal touches around the room, when the shrill sound of the kettle breaks through the silence.

“I’ll go get that,” She says over her shoulder, already heading back downstairs.

“Oh. Sure.” Am I supposed to follow her? It’s probably polite, but I’m _really_ curious to get a look at her room. The bed has a plush blue bedspread and—in my opinion—nowhere near enough pillows. She doesn’t have any pictures of people, but multiple photographs of nature. The closet door is open so I peek in. Neatly labeled boxes in the back, a few police uniforms hung in a row, a laundry hamper with—no, definitely shouldn’t be looking in there. I turn to leave her bedroom, feeling my cheeks flaming, trying not to think about the glimpse of a dark purple bra and panties I saw in her laundry. No more snooping for me—it does not have good results.

Well, depends on your definition of good.

“Here you go,” Nicole says when I arrive back downstairs, handing me a mug of tea.

“Thanks.”

We settle in her living room, first chatting while we sip our tea, then falling into comfortable silence when we agree to get some work done.

The day passes in seconds, minutes, hours of muted bliss. We talk and work, we have lunch and laugh, we trade glances and smiles over our laptops.

After a few hours, we settle on the soft blue couch together and she flips on the TV, where a _Golden Girls_ rerun is playing.

“I love this show,” Nicole tells me.

“I don’t really know it very well,” I admit.

“Do you want to watch something else?”

“No, no, not at all.” We watch together, but all I can focus on is Nicole. The way she smiles before a joke even lands, because she knows it so well. How she can barely seem to look away from the show, but still glances at me occasionally to see if I’m laughing too. She tells me anecdotes about her favorite characters, bits of behind-the-scenes trivia, and mouths along to the funniest lines. Partway through our second episode, I yawn, feeling exhaustion hit me.

“Tired?” She asks.

“Yeah, I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. I wanted to catch up last night, but Wynonna had Dolls over and it was a bit loud.”

“Ah. It must be difficult to live in such close quarters with your sister all the time.”

“We’re both pretty used to it, but yeah, the—uh—thin walls situation could be better.” She laughs.

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime you need some peace and quiet.” Even sitting together, she’s tall enough that I have to turn my head to look up at her. Or maybe that’s just because we’re sitting so close.

“Thanks.” She smiles at me for a moment, before looking back to the TV. With most people, I’d accept that invitation as a nicety, but I know Nicole means it.

People around here think of me as the ‘nicest person in Purgatory’. They expect smiling, bubbly, friendly Waverly, and ninety percent of the time that’s natural. But, sometimes, when I’m not at my best, I feel like I have to perform that ‘happy Waverly’ for them. I’ve never had to perform that with Nicole. She makes me happy. And when I’m not, I’m pretty sure she wants me around anyway.

I take a deep breath, lean my head back against the couch, and close my eyes for a moment, just breathing in the comfortability of being with her.

I can feel her hand trailing over my cheekbone, fingertips callused but gentle. She runs her fingers through my hair, tucking it away from my face in a gesture so slow and careful, it feels adoring. Reverential.

She inches closer, as close as she can be without touching me.

I can smell that hint of perfume, the one that reminds me of my favorite vanilla-dipped doughnuts, closer than it’s ever been before.

She erases that last inch between us and kisses me.

I can taste her. Sweet, warm, a trace of the tea we drank earlier.

She moves slowly, kissing along my cheek, bringing her mouth to my ear.

I hear her murmuring soft words. I can’t quite understand them, but I can feel the low whisper of her voice echoing into my head, her breath against my cheek.

Suddenly I can see her.

Nicole.

So close that her brown eyes feel like the entire world.

I can touch her now too, so I do. I bring my hand up to her face. I trace her dimple as she smiles, I caress soft strands of her hair as she kisses me.

“Waverly,” She says. I feel myself shaking—my shoulder shaking—and suddenly—

“Waverly?” Nicole asks, her hand on my shoulder gently shaking me awake. I blink my eyes open to find myself resting on Nicole’s shoulder. Oh my god, I was _dreaming_? About Nicole? While sleeping on her? I bolt upright.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. I wanted to let you get some sleep, but it’s six. You said you wanted to be home by seven for dinner with Wynonna.”

“Right.” I stand up and gather my stuff. She watches me, a little smile on her lips. “What?” I ask, as it begins to feel like staring.

“Nothing. Just…your hair got a little out of place while you were sleeping.”

“Oh.” I try to fix it, hurriedly pushing my hair away from my face, but she laughs.

“I got it,” She says, raising a hand to smooth my hair. I can’t help remembering the way I dreamt this just moments ago: her fingers softly easing my hair into place. But then we were closer, so much closer. I find myself wishing we could be that close now—here in the real world.

“There,” She tells me when she’s done. “Perfect.”

“Thanks.” She smiles but says nothing. “Well, uh, goodnight, Nicole.”

“Goodnight, Waverly.” She walks me out and I make my way to my car, fingers shaking as I rifle through my purse for my keys.

Okay, if we’re going to be friends then _that_ can’t happen again. But I can tell already that there’s no way I’m going to forget it. I feel the absence of her so acutely I almost wonder if the dream was real. The echo of her voice, the trace of her perfume, the softness of her touch. It lingers like a ghost. It wasn’t real—I know it wasn’t real—but the brush of her fingers in my hair before I left was. And I felt that even more strongly. That was more than real.


	4. Rock Climbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole takes Waverly rock climbing and helps her conquer a fear, but when Waverly gets jealous, Nicole knows she can't keep up this "friends" act much longer.

** POV: Nicole **

Ninety percent of the time being friends with Waverly is amazing. She’s considerate, funny, adorable, and nice to a fault. We laugh over meals together, rant about hard days at work and school over drinks at Shorty’s, and share stories over text in the late hours of the night. We get along so well I can almost forget that there’s so much else I want from her.

But there’s still that remaining ten percent of the time when being her friend feels almost painful. Like when she mentions her boyfriend (who I have officially determined is a total asshole) and I don’t tell her how much I wish she’d dump him for me, even though I can feel the words on my tongue every time. When she’s close enough to touch, but I know I can’t touch her the way I want to—and experience has taught me that even the slightest, most casual touch only makes it worse. When we say goodnight and I know she wants to stay with me as much as I want to stay with her, but she goes anyway.

But I’ll happily live with that pain if that’s what it takes to be her friend—even if that makes me kind of masochistic.

Today we’re going to an indoor rock climbing gym a few towns over. I’ve suggested it to Waverly a couple times since she asked about the climbing equipment at my place, and last week she finally said she wanted to try it. When we’re a few minutes away, Waverly says:

“I’m just warning you now, I may freak out when we’re up really high.”

“I think I can handle that.” She smiles at me for a moment before turning her eyes back to the road. “Have you always had a thing with heights?” She shakes her head, smile dimming.

“Not always. Willa used to make me climb the beams in our barn. I almost fell once. I think that kinda put me off heights.” She’s only told me a little bit about her eldest sister, Willa, who died when she was very young, but I can tell Waverly’s memories of her aren’t all good.

“Well, you’ll be completely safe, I promise.” She nods, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s nervous. I switch through a few radio stations until I see her smile at the sound of an airy, ethereal song with softly sung lyrics. She sings along quietly while I let myself stare at her for a moment, knowing she’s focused on the road.

The feeling that hits me here, staring, studying the nod of her head to the music, is a perfect example of these last couple months of our friendship: beautiful, exciting, filled with adoring temptation, but tinged with just a speck of torture. I’ll have to look away if she catches me, yet I know I’ll keep staring until the last possible moment.

Waverly parks outside the gym a few minutes later, and we head inside together. The receptionist introduces us to two staff members who lead us into the gym. It’s huge, with multiple brightly colored climbing walls of various difficulties, and a few other customers scattered around. Just walking in here gives me a rush of adrenaline—I _love_ climbing. I’m sure whatever we do today will certainly be too easy for me, but I’m excited to show Waverly something that means so much to me. Her fingers tap nervously against her leg as they show us around, and I have to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching out and holding her hand.

As we get our gear on, Waverly wrinkles her nose and asks: “We don’t get helmets?” Her belayer, a staff member who will manage the rope to make sure she’ll be safe, smiles at her kindly.

“You don’t need one,” They explain. “People almost never use them indoors. It’s totally safe.”

“Okay,” She says, though she doesn’t seem that sure.

“It’s gonna be way easier than you think, Waves,” I tell her. “They’ll have the rope in case you lose your grip or start to fall. And I’ll be up there with you the whole time.” She nods, a determined look just beginning to form on her face.

“I got this,” She whispers to herself, so quietly I wonder if she meant to say it aloud. I understand how people can underestimate Waverly—she’s tiny, adorable, and so nice she can appear naive—but I also know they’re making a huge mistake. I can see how she holds fear in herself like gravity, like it ties her to her world, but as much fear as she has, I know she holds just as much power.

I show her how to chalk her hands and we stop just in front of the wall together.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready.” That faintly determined look has cemented into a bold, purposeful one. I take a few steps up, showing her how I do it and explaining why I choose certain holds. She follows, slowly but with earnest commitment. I try to watch her form and technique, but sometimes get more than a bit distracted by her, well, _form_. My mouth goes dry as watch the muscles in her arms flexing, working to pull herself up. God, she has great arms.

“Use your legs for most of your power,” I tell her when I get myself together enough to speak. “You’ll get tired sooner the more you rely your arms.” She adjusts, taking my advice to depend more on her legs—though that doesn’t change the flexing of her arms or my focus on them. Not that her legs aren’t amazing too. She’s wearing tight yoga pants in a floral pattern that hold her like a second skin. Maybe I should let her go ahead of me so I can—

“Where should I go next?” She asks, interrupting my train of thought. I point to a large blue hold which will probably be a bit of a stretch for her. Her brow furrows. “You think I can reach that?”

“Definitely. And you can bring your right foot up there.” I point to another holds and she nods, determination steeling her features again. She grabs the blue hold and moves to pull herself up, but falters part way through and steps back down to the holds she’d been on before. She tries again, but her fingers shake, and she makes it half as far as she did the first time. She blows out a shaky breath, frustrated, and shakes her head. I watch her take a deep breath and find myself mirroring it, adrenaline pumping through my veins for her. Her eyes focus on the blue hold and I feel my fingers itching to help somehow, but I stay still and silent all the same. She reaches and pulls herself up in one fluid, graceful movement.

She looks to me with a beaming smile and I give her a grin right back.

“You got this,” I tell her.

“I got this,” She repeats, and it’s one hundred percent a declaration, not a bit of questioning. She climbs with more confidence now, as we make our way up the wall together. She doesn’t wait for me to go first anymore, but pulls herself up at her own pace. I go slow to stay in line with her, giving a fraction of my attention to the wall and the majority to her. I’m lucky that climbing is second nature to me, because I’m not sure I’ve ever been so distracted before.

Watching Waverly let go of her fear is like watching a sunrise. It’s not instantaneous, but it happens in small, mesmerizing moments of movement, all so strung together that you can feel the change in progress, and you don’t dare blink in case you miss something remarkably beautiful. I’m hypnotized by the bead of sweat that slips down her chest, the straining of her muscles as she works, the way her expression switches back and forth between unwavering determination and a happy, triumphant smile.

We’re getting close to the top now. I told her before we started that reaching the top isn’t the goal—she should go only as far as she feels comfortable—but I can tell she’s set on getting as far as possible. The wall is probably about thirty-five tall, and we’re only about five feet away from the top when she stops to catch her breath. She must be tired. Climbing can be a real workout, especially if you’ve never done it before. I move a couple holds closer so I can talk to her in a gentle voice:

“We can take a break if you’re tired. Or go back down. You’ve done amazing, you know.” She looks at me and smiles but shakes her head.

“I just need a quick break. I want to reach the top.” We stay there in silence for a moment, as I listen to the sound of her breathing slowing down. I look around, watching another climber working their way up an overhanging wall across the room, loving the way the people below us look like they’re a world away. I hear Waverly’s breathing quicken again and turn back to her. Shit—she’s looking down. I don’t think she’s looked down before for more than a quick moment to watch where she was placing her feet. Now she’s looking _all the way_ down, and I can see her skin going pale.

“Wow,” She says, a high-pitched, halfway-to-terrified laugh tripping out of her. “I—Jesus—I didn’t realize we were up quite s-so high.”

“Waverly,” I say, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the ground below us. I can see her throat move as she swallows, the confidence leaving her beautiful eyes as fear overtakes her. Her breathing accelerates further, and I can tell she’s really starting to panic. “Waverly.” My voice becomes more forceful. “Waverly, look at me.” I see her fingers shake on a hold near me, and I cover them with my own, keeping her hand steady and secure with mine. She looks at me, and the fear in her eyes hits me hard in the chest.

“I—I’m sorry—I’m just—” I cut off her stammering:

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise.” I release her hand to move closer. I put a hand firmly on the small of her back and settle a bent knee against the back of one of her legs, holding her in place. I bend my face down to hers and whisper: “I got you.”

“You got me,” She repeats, closing her eyes for a moment.

“I got you.” I listen as her breathing slows again, feel her shaking slowly steady, and watch her features relax. She opens her eyes and looks right into mine, pinning me with the force of her gaze.

I’ve always felt like there was something magical about rock climbing. I love the solitude of it, the peace of being high above everyone else, feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. And now she’s here with me, in this world I’ve reserved just for myself, and it’s more magical than ever.

I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone as much and I want to kiss her right now. It would be so easy, just the slightest lean into her space and I could feel the lips I’ve been dreaming about for weeks now. She’s looking at me with such warmth and trust, as if I saved her from more than falling back safely into her harness. I see her eyes glance down for a moment—looking at my lips the way I must have looked at hers just a second ago. She swallows, and I watch her throat work. I want to kiss her there too. Her mouth falls open just a little, but she says nothing, and it feels like an invitation.

But I can’t. I can’t kiss her when she’s scared and filled with too much adrenaline to think straight. I refuse to end up as someone she kissed once in a spontaneous moment, acting on an impulse she can later dismiss as adrenaline rush. If I kiss her it’ll be because I know she wants me as much as I want her. So, instead, I ask her:

“Better?” She looks almost disappointed but nods and answers:

“Yeah. Much.” She looks up at the few feet we have left. “I don’t think I want to do the rest, though.”

“Okay. I’m gonna let you go then.”

“What?” She asks, panic flitting through her eyes. God, I want to believe that panic is because she likes my hands on her and much as I do, and not because she’s afraid to fall.

“We’ll tell them we’re coming down and then we just let go.”

“Let go?” I almost laugh at the shock on her face.

“Yes. It’s the easiest way to get down. They’ll just lower us back to the ground. It’s fun.”

“Not sure I’m convinced it’ll be _fun_ , but okay. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to kill me.” Now I really do laugh, because the fear in her eyes has been replaced with a joking suspicion.

“I know I make it hard to tell but no, I don’t,” I retort. She smiles for a quick moment before taking a deep, fortifying breath.

“Okay, so explain to me how I let go.” I call down to our belayers that we’re going to come down, then tell Waverly I’m going to let her go. She nods, so I reluctantly let go of her—a voice in the back of my head telling me that may be the longest I’ll ever get to hold her—and push off the wall, dropping just a bit.

“See? Easy.” She smiles at me, steels herself, and lets go, letting out a little squeal as she falls back into her harness. She laughs as we make our way down, the color coming back to her cheeks and the easy smile returning to her lips.

“Wow, I feel kinda loopy,” She tells me, giggling, as we reach the ground. “My legs feel like we were on a boat or something.” She shakes out her legs and arms and I laugh at the childlike wonder on her face.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I really did.” She looks me straight in the eyes. “Thank you, Nicole.”

“Thank _you_ for coming.”

“But really. Thank you. I honestly didn’t think I’d be able to do that. And I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been there with me. It means a lot.” The sincerity in her gaze leaves a lump in my throat, so I just nod.

We take our gear off, and Waverly heads off to the bathroom before we leave. I’m waiting by the entrance when one of our belayers walks up to me.

“Hi,” She says, stopping just a couple feet away. “I just wanted to say I was really impressed, watching you on the wall. You must do a lot of climbing.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I’m Ruby.” She extends a hand and I shake it.

“Nicole.” The handshake goes on a bit long, so I end it, putting my hands in my pockets. And then I realize that the smile she’s sending me is distinctly flirty. I look her over as subtly as possible. She’s about my height, with thick dark hair cut a couple inches above her shoulders, and cute round glasses surrounding vibrant green eyes. She’s beautiful, and yet somehow I didn’t notice her at all until now. Not that it’s a mystery why—I’d be lucky to be able to remember anything about someone I met when I was with Waverly. She takes up all my attention, whether she means to or not. But this woman clearly wants to. She’s smiling at me expectantly, waiting to see if I’ll flirt back. I don’t—I’m not sure I could if I tried, knowing Waverly is in the very same building—but we chat for a couple minutes anyway, discussing our favorite kinds of places to go climbing.

“You’re a really graceful climber, you know,” She tells me, playing with her hair a bit.

“Thanks.”

“So, do you live nearby? We could have a drink sometime. Or a climb. Or both.” I open my mouth to respond to her not-so-great innuendo, when someone else beats me to it:

“No, thanks, we’re not from around here.” I turn to see Waverly approaching behind me, her nicest-person-in-Purgatory smile dialed a bit too high to be natural. She turns to me, stepping into my space just a little, putting herself closer than Ruby. “We should head out, Nicole. Long drive home.” I just nod, startled by Waverly’s confident and abrupt attitude. Is she jealous? Really? She saw me being flirted with—not even actively flirting myself—and suddenly became protective, even though she’s the one in a supposedly committed relationship?

“Oh, um—” Ruby is clearly surprised as well, so she backs off with an awkward smile. “Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you, Nicole.” I nod and give her a half-smile, unsure what else to say. Waverly starts off towards the car and I follow, but I don’t think I can just brush off her reaction. I have to say something, right? As she’s looking for the car keys in her purse, I make my best attempt:

“That was…” I meet her eyes over the car, and she looks almost embarrassed. “Weird.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. I was just eager to get going. And—I mean—She was just so forward.” I frown.

“She didn’t say anything crazy. She was just flirting.”

“Right. Nothing crazy. Just… _forward._ ”

“What’s wrong with being forward?” She searches for words for a moment, but I go on, pushing her just a little: “I like forward. I think it’s important in relationships. Saying where you’re at, being honest, open.”

“Sure, but…”

“What?” I ask, frustrated by how much suddenly feels unsaid in our relationship.

“I—I don’t know. You’re right. Sorry, I’m just a little shaken up.” My irritation melts away at the anxiety on her face.

“Is everything okay?” She nods, turning back to her bag to look for her keys.

“Yeah, just all the adrenaline leaving my body, you know.” I’m flooded with disappointment as she unlocks the car and gets in. I follow, still hoping she’ll say more, but instead she flips on the radio and immediately begins chatting about the lyrics in the energetic pop song that’s playing.

I guess that’s it. She’s not going to tell me she was jealous or that she felt something when we were up thirty feet in the air together. I’m still pretty sure that’s what her reaction to Ruby flirting with me was—I mean, what else could it be, really? But she’s not going to tell me. We’re going to stay in this limbo of words left unspoken and longing glances that lead to nothing.

I can’t keep being her friend like this. I don’t think I can keep forgetting that there’s so much else I want from her or pretend that the attraction between us just doesn’t exist. Maybe I just need to tell her how I feel. If she rejects me it’ll be devastating, but hopefully we’ll be able to move past it. If I stay quiet, I’m just going to keep pining over her and drive myself crazy. The way she’s bopping along to the radio right now like nothing’s happened between us today isn’t exactly encouraging. If she really felt the way I do, wouldn’t she at least acknowledge it? And if she really can’t manage that, I guess that tells me all I need to know anyway. Maybe taking a step back and trying to get over her is the only thing I can do.


	5. Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly has a frustrating day where it feels like everything's going wrong, but then Nicole appears as her knight in shining armor, and Waverly makes a decision.

** POV: Waverly **

I love school. I always have. I love the classes, I love the research, I love the discussions—I even love the lectures. But this week I haven’t been able to concentrate at all. Even now, in my favorite class, taught by Professor Holliday (who insists we call him Doc, even though people find that pretty funny in a class on Wild West history), I can’t seem to get out of my head and focus on the world around me. I feel like I’ve been living life entirely inside my mind recently, going over stupid shit I did and said and trying like hell to figure myself out.

Things have been off since Nicole took me rock climbing last week. There’s the slightest shift in how she interacts with me now. She’s holding herself back, not giving me the open, comfortable, in-the-moment version of herself I’d gotten used to. I could tell I disappointed her by pretending my stupid jealous moment was something else—something silly and altogether unrelated from her.

And more than that, there was the inexplicable, almost magical space we found when we were climbing together. It was like nothing else I’ve ever experienced—the way she taught me, helped me find my bravery and make my way up the wall. The gentle encouragement in her eyes, the reassuring words, the earnest, unwavering focus she gave me. I felt so unbelievably bonded to her. It was pure connection—almost like sex. Good sex. Better than I’ve ever had.

When she held me as I started to panic, I realized how true our bond really is. I’ve felt it since I met her, but I hadn’t let myself realize it fully. If she’d kissed me then, I would have kissed her back without restraint. I would have let go of the wall without a second thought so I could hold her instead. I can’t remember the last time I felt so vulnerable. But she didn’t kiss me, and I wasn’t brave enough to make the move myself. And then, when we got back to the ground, I felt the fear creep back in, and I let us leave that magic behind us as if it never happened in the first place. I pushed us to move past it, forget it, just like I have with every moment we’ve shared, and yet now I can’t forget it for a second.

I notice other students are packing up their stuff and I check the clock. Damn, class is over and I didn’t even notice. I pack up too, and head towards the door. I’m about to leave when Professor Holliday stops me.

“Everything alright, Miss Earp?” He drawls.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Why?”

“You don’t quite seem yourself. I would have thought you’d have a lot of thoughts on today’s reading.” I cringe. I was so fascinated by the homework for today I reread it three times, and yet I missed the entire discussion thinking about Nicole.

“I did, Doc, I just, um, I’ve been a bit distracted, I guess. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, frowning behind his mustache.

“No need for that. Everything okay at home? Your, uh, your sister? She doing alright?”

“Oh, she’s fine,” I reassure him, slightly confused by his interest. “Nothing like that.”

“Well, I hope everything works out.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He tips his hat as I head out, saying:

“Miss Earp.” I head outside towards my car. In the parking lot, I’m surprised to see my sister dismounting her bike and taking off her helmet.

“Wynonna?”

“Waves. Hey.” She doesn’t seem surprised to run into me, but she’s also clearly not here to see me, since she’s looking over my shoulder, searching for something.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her, turning to see what she might be looking for. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her on campus before, and I doubt she knows many other students.

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Like _someone someone_?” She laughs and gives her focus back to me.

“If you mean a sexy someone, then yes.”

“Dolls?” She shakes her head. “What? I thought you guys were dating.”

“Depends what you mean by dating,” She tells me, smirking.

“But you and Dolls are so good together! I really think—”

“Move on, baby girl.” I sigh.

“Fine. Wait. Is the someone you’re meeting a student here? Do I know them?” I’d be kinda surprised if Wynonna was dating someone my age. Not because of the age difference, but because she usually seems to go for older guys.

“Not a student.”

“But I do know them?” She shrugs and I give her a little shove. It barely moves her, but it makes her laugh. “C’mon, Wynonna, tell me.”

“You know him.”

“But he’s not a student? Who—”

“Miss Earp.” I turn to see Doc coming up to us. But he’s not looking at me, he’s looking at Wynonna.

“Doc,” She replies. Oh _wow_. My professor? How old is he? He’s always seemed kind of ageless to me. I shift my gaze to Wynonna, but I’m definitely not the one she’s focused on right now either.

“Ooookay,” I draw the word out, unsure what else to say. Wynonna finally looks back to me and laughs, saying:

“See you at home later, baby girl.” Doc tips his hat to me and they head off together. Wow. Didn’t see that coming. I get in my car, wondering if my professor will become my brother-in-law. As I head off towards home, my phone rings. I stop at a light and pick it up. Champ. We haven’t talked in a couple weeks. Usually I’m the one that instigates phone calls, and I haven’t really wanted to talk to him lately. I can’t remember the last time he was the one who called me. I pick up, putting it on speakerphone as the light changes to green.

“Hi, Champ,” I greet him.

“Babe, hey.” I can hear pumping music and shouting voices in the background of wherever he is. “So, I know I’m supposed to come back home this weekend, but I think I’m gonna stay for another few days.”

“What?” I protest, even though I don’t actually want to see him. It’s the third time in a row he’s cancelled on me. “You haven’t been home in almost two months.”

“Yeah, I know, but there’s this party this weekend I really can’t miss. We’re gonna go to this new bar in—”

“Fine,” I cut him off.

“Hey…” He sounds drunk even though it’s barely three in the afternoon. God, I wish I hadn’t picked up. “I’ll be back next weekend. Or maybe the one after that. You know I can’t stay away from you for long.” Right. That’s why I haven’t seen him in weeks.

“Yeah,” I say, not meaning it at all, but realizing that, more than anything, I just want to get off the phone. “Listen, I gotta go.”

“Yeah, sure. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.” I hang up before he can respond. Why do I keep doing this with him? He treats me like shit, breezes through town every couple months, and I never do anything about it. Maybe it’s _because_ he’s almost never here. A relationship can’t progress when you basically never see each other. It’s safe. Unchanging. Easy. And there was a time—so long ago now—when I thought it would turn into something better. But it hasn’t, and don’t think it ever will.

My strange beep comes from my car and I look down, searching for the source. _Shit_. I’m out of gas, running on empty, and I’m still a few miles from home. I pull over, safely out of the road, and bring the car to a stop. I let my head fall onto the steering wheel. There’s no way I’m making it to the nearest gas station. I’m never forgetful like this—but I guess my overthinking about Nicole has brought me here: literally stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Today sucks.

I call Wynonna but she doesn’t pick up. She’s probably having sex with Doc—as weird as that is to think about. I scroll through my contacts, thinking about who else I can call. I need someone who’d be willing to drop whatever they’re doing and come help me not freeze to death on the side of the road. Someone competent and helpful who cares about me. I have a decent number of friends, but there’s still only one person in my life other than Wynonna who really fits that description: Nicole. But I can’t help thinking of the tension between us. The last thing I want to do is ask someone whose feelings I hurt to come help me. I could call the Sheriff’s office—but that would probably lead me back to Nicole anyway.

I give in and call her. She answers on the first ring.

“Waverly?”

“Nicole. Hey. Are you busy? I could really use some help.” I explain and she agrees immediately, not a shred of hesitation in her voice. And then she’s there, less than ten minutes later, a perfect combination of official, adorable, and ridiculously sexy as she emerges from her police car in her uniform—Stetson and all.

“Are you okay?” She asks as I get out of my car to greet her, concern creasing her features.

“I’m fine.” Really, _really_ cold, but fine. I don’t add that part because I feel bad enough without making her listen to me complain. “Thank you so much for coming.” She looks down at the way I’m rubbing my arms, trying to stay warm.

“You’re freezing.”

“Not _freezing_ , just cold.” She takes off her dark blue police jacket. “Nicole, I can’t—”

“Of course you can.” She drapes it over my shoulders and pulls it around me until I’m wrapped in it. She walks to the trunk of her car before I can say anything else. She opens it and returns with a red gas can.

“Oh. Wow. You’re so prepared.”

“It comes with the job.”

“I think this counts as above and beyond the call of duty.” She smiles but doesn’t look me in the eyes as she opens the gas cap on my car.

“Everything okay with you?” She asks, focusing on her task. “Forgetting to get gas doesn’t really seem like you.”

“Oh, um…” You drive me to such distraction I’m surprised I remembered anything today. Definitely can’t say that. “I had a frustrating phone call with Champ. I guess I was a little distracted.” She looks at me for just a moment—a quick surprised glance.

“Oh.” I wait for her to say more but she doesn’t. I find myself rambling before I even know what I’m saying:

“He just hasn’t been home in a while. He was supposed to come back this weekend but now he’s not going to. He’s basically never here, really. And it’s not even like that’s _new_. That’s been true for a while now. I mean…what kind of relationship is that?” She shakes her head, closing the gas cap again.

“I don’t know.” I feel embarrassed suddenly. How crazy and stupid my relationship with Champ must seem to someone who didn’t know me in high school, when it at least made some kind of sense.

“Maybe it’s no kind,” I tell her, surprising both of us with that sliver of honesty. She looks like she’s going to say something but stops herself. We stand in silence for a moment.

“You should check that your car starts.” I’m disappointed that she doesn’t say more, but I guess I’ve brought that upon myself.

“Right.” I get in and start the car, but I keep the door open so she can hear me. I sigh in relief as I see the gas gauge is now safely away from empty. “Awesome. Thank you so much for doing this. Really, you’re my hero.” She shakes her head.

“Happy to.” But her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She glances back to her car and I realize she must be about to tell me goodbye. She’s probably on the clock, so I know I should let her go, but I feel an irrationally strong urge to keep her here. Maybe I can just keep her jacket hostage so she can’t leave without taking it from me. She opens her mouth to speak, but I change the subject first to keep us talking:

“Something super weird happened after class today.” She leans on my car door, curious.

“What?”

“Wynonna was there to meet my professor. I guess they’re hooking up.” She makes a face that is exactly how I feel: intrigued but just a little bit weirded out.

“The one who looks weirdly like Doc Holliday?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. I thought she and Dolls were dating.”

“I know, right? Me too.” She nods thoughtfully.

“Poor Dolls.” I feel an impulse to defend my sister:

“Oh, I’m sure she likes Dolls, too.”

“As long as everyone’s clear on what the situation is. I hope she’s not stringing anyone along.”

“She’s not,” I say immediately, even though I don’t really know if that’s true. I just had to respond since her comment was obviously aimed at me—Not that either of us would admit it. I keep talking, nerves taking over. “I mean…Wynonna goes after what she wants. She’s straightforward. If she likes you, she’ll tell you. Or have sex with you. Probably just have sex with you, actually. She prefers that to talking.” Nicole nods, but she seems confused. “I envy that about her. A lot.” I didn’t really mean to say that, but now that I have, I push on. “I’m not—I’m really not good at that. At being straightforward like that. I live in my own head a lot, you know? It takes me a while to work stuff out. I have to go over and over and over something before I can really understand it. And then when I have—when I’ve figured out how I feel—then I’ve thought about it too much to act on it. I just keep spiraling and going over the same things and—and yeah. This rambling is exactly what I mean.” I can feel my heart pounding, but I can’t just leave it there. I don’t think I can tell her everything, but I have to say something more. “I really want to be brave, though.” It comes out in a whisper, but I can tell she hears me by the way her eyebrows raise just the slightest bit. “I know what I want, and I want to brave.” I can hear my heartbeat as strongly as I feel it. She knows I’m talking about her. She has to. I know I have to be more straightforward—I _will_ be, if she gives me the chance—but this is the first step.

Static crackles out of the radio pinned to her shirt and a voice starts spouting police code numbers and an address.

“Shit.” She closes her eyes briefly, frustrated. “That’s near here. I gotta go.”

“Oh—Okay.” She tells the radio she’ll be there soon, then goes to close my car door, but something stops her.

“Waverly, I think…I _know_ you can be brave.” I feel the biggest smile overtake me. My heart is still beating a mile a minute, but now I’m as excited as I am nervous.

“Me too,” I tell her. She smiles, closes the door and runs back to her car. I watch her take off, sirens blaring. And then I’m alone again, on the side of the road in the cold—but now I’m grinning like an idiot. If I wasn’t still wearing her jacket, I would wonder if I’d dreamt her.

I move to put the car in drive and head home when something occurs to me. Champ. I have to break up with him. I’d have to even if Nicole didn’t exist. But she does, so I have to do it _now_. I grab my phone, but I don’t think my deeply ingrained politeness could handle breaking up with someone on a phone call. Even though he definitely doesn’t deserve it, I have to go break it off in person.

I put the car in drive and turn around, wondering if anyone’s ever been so happy on their way to end a long-term relationship.


	6. Drunk Nicole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Waverly accidentally causes a misunderstanding, Nicole thinks the worst, so she and Wynonna get drunk and wallow together.

** POV: Nicole **

I’ve never been so desperate for a shift to end. I count down the minutes until the night shift arrives to take over. I’ve considered calling Waverly about thirty times since I left her on the road this afternoon, but I think some things need to be done in person.

Maybe I should wait, after what Waverly said. Maybe letting her make the next move would be the smart thing to do. But I know the smile on her face as I left earlier today wasn’t platonic or hesitant. She wants this as badly as I do, and I’m tired of waiting. If she wants to be brave, then I’m gonna make that as easy for her as possible.

After I clock out, I make two quick stops: the doughnut shop for a few of Waverly’s favorite vanilla-dipped, and the nearest florist for a bouquet of yellow roses I think she’ll love. I drive to her house, struggling to stay under the speed limit. I almost want to use the sirens. I check my hair in my car mirror, take a deep breath, and approach the front door. I knock, flowers in one hand and the box of doughnuts in the other. No one answers. I know it’s kind of late, but Waverly is usually awake at this hour, so I knock again. After a moment, I hear movement on the other side. My breath catches in my throat, the door swings open, and—Wynonna.

“Haught,” She greets me, eyeing the flowers and doughnuts with curiosity. “Aw, you didn’t have to—”

“Is Waverly upstairs?” I ask. Wynonna frowns, an almost sympathetic look in her eyes.

“She’s not here, actually. She just called to say she won’t be home for a while. She’s, uh, driving a few towns over to see Champ.” My heart drops. Champ? She’s going to see _Champ_? Really? After what she said to me in her car?

“Did she say why?” Wynonna just shakes her head in response.

I honestly don’t know how to make sense of this. I know I didn’t imagine our conversation earlier. I’ve been walking around all day without a jacket because of it. But I guess it could have meant something different to her than it meant to me. She never really said she was talking about me—about us. It seemed so obvious I didn’t think for even a second that she could have meant something else. All that talk about bravery and knowing what she wants…it _has_ to have been about me. Right? And yet she’s not here. She’s driving to go see Champ.

Maybe she really does love him. Maybe she wants to try to fix what they have. Maybe she’s standing at his door with gifts saying she wants to be with him, only him, forever.

But I just don’t believe that. I know the moments we’ve shared were real. I know our connection is special to both of us. I guess I could have misunderstood our conversation at her car today, but that seems pretty ridiculous.

Maybe she just can’t do it. Maybe she wants to be brave, but she realized that wanting something and actually going for it are not the same. Maybe she decided to stick with the safe option and avoid the risk—avoid me.

“Sorry, Haught,” Wynonna says, and I realize I must look pretty fucking miserable. Standing on Waverly’s porch with flowers and doughnuts, crestfallen to learn she’s out with someone else.

“Yeah, I, uh…” What the hell am I supposed to say? “I guess I should go, then.” I turn back towards my car, but her voice stops me.

“Do you like whiskey, Haught?”

“I don’t hold my liquor very well, to be honest, but sure.”

“Then this should be fun.” She opens the door wider, smiling. I hesitate and she rolls her eyes. “C’mon. Let’s get drunk and eat whatever’s in that box.” I laugh, giving in, and head inside. Wynonna pours us each a huge glass of whiskey and leaves the bottle out. We sit in the kitchen in companionable—albeit sad—silence for a minute. As I’m taking a long, fortifying sip, she says:

“I once walked in on Waverly and Champ having sex and his dick is pretty small.” I almost spit out my whiskey all over the table.

“Excuse me?”

“Like—” She holds her hands a few inches apart right in front of my face. “I only saw it for a second, but I’d guess it was about this.” I slap her hands away.

“I _really_ don’t need to picture Champ’s dick.” She shrugs.

“I thought you’d like to know that your competition really isn’t that good. Or big. I’m sure you’re much better, even—”

“That’s enough, Wynonna.” She laughs. “But thanks.”

“Look,” She levels with me, meeting my eyes. “My sister is practically an angel. She’s the sweetest, nicest, most annoyingly perfect person you’ll ever meet. But that doesn’t mean she always makes the right choice.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m just saying. She fucks up, just like the rest of us. Well, maybe not just like _me_ , but you get what I mean. Choosing Champ over anyone is the wrong choice. Choosing Champ over a literal pile of shit is the wrong choice.”

“Gee, thanks, what a nice comparison.”

“I know you agree, though.” I laugh, because that could not be more true.

“Well, yeah.” I feel a little weird talking about this with Waverly’s sister, but I’m urged on by the alcohol, which has already gone to my head. “Do you have any idea what’s going on there? I mean, I haven’t even met him, but what could she possibly see in him?”

“You haven’t met him?” Wynonna asks, surprised.

“He’s only been in town once since I met Waverly.” She laughs, pouring us each another drink.

“Oh man, Haught, you’re missing out. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more mockable douchebro.” She puts on a deep voice I assume is supposed to be Champ: “Uh hey, babe, I know you said you wanted to see that French movie tonight but there’s two-for-one tequila shots at the Pussy Willows. You don’t mind, right?” She laughs at her joke then returns to her normal voice. “God, I can’t wait for the day she breaks up with him and I can make whatever jokes about him I want to.” I laugh sadly.

“Yeah, me neither.” She shakes her head at me.

“Hey, no, you can’t get all sad on me, Haught. We’re drinking! And shitting on Champ! And…” She looks around for something else to say, and her eyes land on the box of doughnuts. “And eating whatever’s in here.” She flips it open and grabs one. She takes a huge bite and asks while she chews: “What’s with you cops and doughnuts?” I roll my eyes but take a doughnut for myself anyway.

“That’s such a random stereotype. Who doesn’t like doughnuts?”

“True, but Dolls has them for breakfast, like, every day.” I study her for a moment, and she frowns at me.

“What?”

“What’s up with you and Dolls? Waverly told me you’re sleeping with her professor, too.” She snorts.

“You have no idea how often Waverly asks me that. I like Dolls, so I’ve kept him around longer than most, but it doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”

“Sure, it doesn’t _have_ to. But does it?” She narrows her eyes at me and laughs a little.

“Clever, Haught.” She pours us each another drink. Wow have I had two of these already? And with the way Wynonna pours, it’s probably more like four. I consider slowing down, but the sight of the discarded roses on the table makes me take another sip. “Like I said, I like Dolls. But I like Doc, too. Dolls is a sexy, taciturn, silent enigma, and Doc is hot in a weird, courteous, endearing nineteenth century way.” She shrugs. “Maybe someday I’ll have to make a decision, but I’m sure as hell not going to before then. Honestly I do not get why people choose monogamy over sleeping around.” Even sitting here, drinking away the pain of Waverly’s rejection, she’s the first reason that pops into my head. How watching her put her trust in me felt like receiving the most precious gift in the world. The trance I seem to enter every time she talks about history, so absorbed by the clear passion in her voice that I can’t focus on anything else. The fact that I’d give just about anything right now for her to feel the same way.

“Love?” I offer, but Wynonna rolls her eyes.

“Of course that’s your response.”

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with sleeping around.”

“Riiiight,” She says, in possibly the most mocking tone I have ever heard.

“Seriously!”

“Wow, a bit loud there, Haught. You really don’t hold your liquor, do you?”

“You should have known me five years ago. Early twenties and all that.”

“Are you telling me you used to get around, officer?”

“Hell yeah!” She laughs. The look in her eyes tells me I’m getting pretty tipsy, and she’s probably laughing _at_ me more than _with_ me, but I laugh with her anyway.

“Well, I’m sure my sister will be interested to hear that.” I grab her arm, suddenly panicked.

“Don’t tell Waverly!”

“Oookay,” She pries my hand off her arm. “I am very confident she wouldn’t care.” My heart sinks, but Wynonna shakes her head at me. “Not because she doesn’t like you, Haught. Jesus, get yourself together. I mean she doesn’t care about your past. She…she likes you a lot.”

“You think so?”

“We haven’t talked about it or anything, but I think I know my sister pretty well.”

“Waverly is so…” I look around, searching for words to do her justice, when a photo on the wall catches my eye. I gasp, getting up to look at it. Waverly, Wynonna, and a woman I don’t know are laughing together in Shorty’s. “Waves,” I sigh at the picture, taking it off the wall for a closer look, then turning it to Wynonna. “Look at this photo, Wynonna!”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s hanging in my kitchen.”

“But look!” I bring it closer to her. “Look at Waverly.”

“That is Waverly.” I look at the picture again, sinking to the floor and leaning against the kitchen cabinets.

“She’s so beautiful. When is this from?” Wynonna sighs, gets the liquor and doughnuts, and joins me on the floor.

“About a year ago, I guess. That’s our aunt Gus.”

“She’s so beautiful,” I repeat. “Waverly, I mean. Is this, like, an official uniform?” I show the picture to Wynonna, pointing to Waverly’s red-and-blue Shorty’s shirt, and she laughs.

“No, she made that. She has a few. She thought Shorty’s could use some more branding.”

“Plus, she looks like _that_ in it.”

“That was probably part of it too.” I put a finger on the photo, right next to her face.

“It’s not fair to be so nice and so pretty and then not be here for me to talk to.”

“That’s enough wallowing for now, I think,” Wynonna tells me, taking the picture away.

“Nooooo…” I reach for it but Wynonna shakes me off, laughing.

“If there’s gonna be more wallowing then I’ll need more of this.” She downs her glass and refills it, so I do the same. She looks through the box of doughnuts, frowning at her lack of options, but grabs another anyway.

“No powdered sugar ones?” She asks.

“All vanilla-dipped. They’re Waverly’s favorite.”

“If you weren’t so sad right now, I’d make a joke about you being whipped. Actually, I still will.” She makes a whipping noise. “Okay, back to being sad.”

“You don’t have much experience with this kind of thing, do you?” I ask, though she’s actually doing a pretty good job of cheering me up.

“Definitely not. Not big on friends with tons of emotions. Or having that many friends in the first place.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiles, then clinks her glass to mine.

“You’re not so bad, Haught. If only you weren’t a narc.”

“I’m not a narc!” She leans away a bit, telling me I must be getting pretty loud.

“You’re a cop. That’s even worse.”

“I break rules. I mean, not at the time. And not _laws_. But I—I do.” She nods and pats my head like I’m a little kid.

“Sure you do.” The waves of sarcasm flowing off of her could not be stronger.

“I do!”

“Literally the first words you said to me were to stop me from stealing.”

“Well, that’s _stealing._ ” She gives me a look that says I’ve completely proven her point.

“Like I said, _narc_.”

“Fine, let’s go steal something, then.”

“Excuse me?” She laughs, but I stand and pull her up with me. It almost makes me fall over because I’m feeling _very_ unsteady, but I make it. I drag her to the front door.

“We’re gonna do this! We’re gonna do something crazy.” I throw the door open and run outside laughing. “This is a good idea, Earp! I’ll get my mind off Waverly and--” And I promptly slip and fall into a snowbank. The freezing cold surrounding me—as well as the sound of Wynonna’s resounding laughter as she approaches me—makes me sober up just enough to realize that this is a very stupid idea.

“You okay?” She asks, though she’s still laughing.

“Wynonna, I don’t think I can steal something.”

“I know, Haught.”

“What would Waverly say?”

“You got farther than I thought you would. Almost half the way to your car.” I try to get up but fall back. “Need some help there?”

“Maybe I should just wait here. I’ll see Waverly right when she gets back.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely not going to do that.” She helps me up and we head back inside. “You can sleep off the whiskey, go back to being sensible boring Officer Haught, and talk to Waverly when she gets back.”

“Really? You don’t mind if I stay here?”

“Even if I did, you’re not driving anytime soon.”

“Like you never drive drunk.”

“Nicole, I barely _walk_ sober. But we’re talking about you, and apparently you’re the biggest lightweight ever.” She sets me up on the living room couch, tossing me a blanket. “You are a fun drunk, at least.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re mocking me, but thanks.” She studies me for a moment, then seems to make a decision. Her expression turns serious, so I know she must really mean whatever she’s going to say.

“Just so you know…Waves has always taken her time with the big stuff. She’s a researcher by nature—she needs all the evidence before she can make a decision. But she pretty much always makes the right choice eventually. I hope she’ll come to her senses and make the right one here. There isn’t a person in the world who deserves her, but you wouldn’t be too bad.”

“Thanks, Earp.”

“Goodnight, Haught.” She heads upstairs, leaving me alone on the couch, thinking about Waverly again. I hope she’s right. I know Waverly’s braver than she thinks, so if this is what she really wants, I’m sure she’ll tell me eventually. But for now, she’s chosen to go see Champ, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Hopefully, if I wait for Waverly to come to me, I won’t be waiting forever.


	7. The Finale: Go Big or Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly is determined to find Nicole and make things right (also make things sexy, finally).

** POV: Waverly **

I wake up early the next morning in a hotel a couple towns over from Purgatory. I hadn’t been able to find Champ until midnight last night and an hour long drive immediately post-breakup did _not_ sound fun. It went okay, as far as breakups go. Champ definitely wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t really have a counterargument either. I, on the other hand, have never felt so free.

Now I just need to tell Nicole. Not that I’m not terrified—I definitely am—but more than anything I’m excited. And I know when I see her, when I can focus on her big brown eyes and encouraging smiles, I’ll be able to be brave.

I drive home first, arriving a little after ten, so I can change out of the clothes I’ve been wearing for the past twenty-four hours. Wynonna is in the kitchen drinking coffee when I arrive.

“Hey!”

“Hey,” She replies, suspicion lacing her voice. She looks kinda annoyed. “Out all night, huh?”

“Yeah, it took me forever to find Champ, and I was exhausted, so I stayed in a hotel.”

“Champ didn’t let you stay with him? In whatever frat-boy hovel he’s crashing at this week?” I open my mouth to tell her it wasn’t that kind of visit, but she continues. “Jesus, Waves, I _really_ do not understand why you’re still with him. It’s not like you don’t have better options. Haught and I were talking last night, and I know I wasn’t so sure about her, but she’s—”

“Wait. You saw Nicole last night? You talked about me?”

“She came here looking for you. Brought you flowers and doughnuts.”

“What? She did?” Wynonna gestures to a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses and a doughnut box sitting on the counter. I’m filled with happiness for a moment at the image of Nicole showing up on my porch, flowers and doughnuts in hand, but it’s quickly replaced with fear and guilt as I remember I wasn’t here to receive them.

“She didn’t seem too happy to hear you were out with Champ.” I turn back to Wynonna, angry even though I know it’s not her fault.

“Is that what you told her?”

“Yeah.” She furrows her brow, confused. “That’s what _you_ told _me_.”

“I wasn’t ‘out with Champ’, not like that,” I correct her.

“You said had to go see him.”

“To _break up_ with him.” Her eyebrows shoot up, and a smile starts to form on her face.

“You finally dumped Champ?”

“Yeah.”

“For Haught?”

“I mean, for a lot of reasons, but yeah.” Wynonna whoops, smacking me on the arm happily.

“Hell yeah! Finally picking a good one.”

“You really like her?” I ask. Wynonna’s made a couple comments about Nicole being uptight since we became friends, so I’m surprised to hear she’s so firmly on Team Haught.

“We had a fun time last night.”

“You hung out?”

“Yeah. That chick can _not_ hold her liquor, by the way.”

“You _drank_ together?”

“I got tipsy, Haught got trashed. I let her crash on the couch.” I bolt upright, looking around.

“She’s here? Now?”

“No, no. She left early this morning. Said she was gonna go camping.”

“Like right now?” She nods and tells me:

“I think she wanted to clear her head.” I groan.

“Because she thinks I rejected her for Champ.” Wynonna nods again. “God damn it. I have to find her.” I pull out my phone and call her, but it goes it voicemail immediately. “Shit. Her phone must be off. What the hell do I do now? I can’t just let her wallow out there when she doesn’t even know the truth. How am I gonna find her?”

“Calm down, baby girl. I know where she went.” Wynonna tells me the plan Nicole had described to her. Apparently, she’s going to go hiking, do some rock climbing, and stay out overnight at a popular camping destination a few miles from here.

“That’s not, like, an actual location, though. It’s a general area. It could take me hours to find her there, just searching—”

“So?” Wynonna asks, shrugging casually.

“So…” I think about it. So…so nothing, really. I need to find her _now_. “Go big or go home, right?” She nods, smiling at me encouragingly.

“Go get your girl, Waves.” I change, pack a small bag, give Wynonna a tight hug, and head out. I feel anxiety battling the adrenaline in my veins, but I’m not going to let it win. I’m going to tell Nicole how I feel today, and the last thing that’s gonna get in my way is my own damn fear.

I pull into the parking lot and spot a map of all the possible routes at the base of the trail. I park, run up to it, and—fuck, that’s a lot of options. She could be anywhere, on any of the trails. Or she could be off them, exploring on her own. I turn away from the map, overwhelmed. Is this completely stupid? Maybe I should just go home and text her, tell her to call me when she’s back. I start back towards my car, but something stops me—her car. There’s her car, parked just a few spots over from mine. She’s here. She has to be. She’s nearby and I’m definitely not going to go _farther_ from her. It may be stupid, but I’m gonna do everything I can to find her.

I head onto one of the trails at random. I hike for fifteen minutes, thirty, an hour, more. I stop every person I run into, asking if they’ve seen a tall redhead on the trail. No one can help me. After almost two hours, I find myself back at the beginning—I hiked in a loop. But there are still multiple other paths. I remind myself that the more space I cover, the closer I’m getting. Even if I’m going in the wrong direction, I’m making progress. I start on another path, this one uphill, ascending the cliffs. I quickly start to feel hopeless. Thirty minutes in and I haven’t seen a single other person. Maybe I should go back? Try a different path?

Suddenly I hear voices up ahead and push forward with renewed energy. It’s a young couple, chatting happily.

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” I greet them. “But have you seen a tall, redheaded woman recently? I’m looking for her.” They shake their heads. Damn. “Have you seen anyone else on this path at all?” They shake their heads again. Maybe I should just go back.

“Well, there was a campsite back a little ways, but we didn’t see anyone there.” One of them offers.

“Oh, yeah,” Agrees the other. “A tent and some supplies. Looked like they must have been setting up to go rock climbing.” I feel my heart start beating faster. Anyone could be rock climbing here, technically, but something inside me tells me it’s her.

“That way?” I ask, pointing down the trail. They nod.

“Yeah. About fifteen minutes ago.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I take off down the path, faster now that I have a goal in mind, and come upon a tent ten minutes later. Would it be weird to look inside? See if there’s anything of hers? I glance around, looking for any sign of her. Off in the distance, close to where the mountain drops, I see a rope anchored into the ground, hanging off the edge. I walk up to it slowly and—wow that’s a long drop. I take an instinctive step back, feeling that familiar stirring of anxiety in my stomach. I take a deep breath, make a small step forward, and look down again. And there she is—climbing up the side of the cliff like that isn’t the most fucking terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. All my fear for myself is wiped away by the terror of seeing her hanging there, only a rope holding her up.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I yell down before I’ve even realized I’m speaking. But how could I not—she’s climbing up a _cliff_. Her head shoots up, looking up at me. She’s a good distance away, but I can see her mouth drop open in surprise and her eyes narrow to figure out what she’s looking at.

“Waverly?” She calls back, confused. “Is that you? What—what are you doing here?”

“I’m standing safely on solid ground. What are _you_ doing?”

“Uh, rock climbing?”

“You’re climbing up a _cliff_ on a _rope_.”

“That’s kinda how it works, yeah. But, wait, how did you—”

“You’re not even wearing a helmet!”

“I’m wearing a harness. The rope is—”

“Are you telling me this is on purpose? Like for _fun_? You’re not trying to escape a bear or something?” I yell, the desperation clear in my voice. She laughs, the sweet sound of it reverberating and echoing up to me, calming me down.

“I’m okay, Waverly. I promise. Now I’m gonna climb the rest of the way, and you’re going to tell me what the hell you’re doing out here.” She starts to climb up towards me, and I know she probably meant I should explain when she gets up here, but I can’t wait, can’t go any longer with any confusion or misunderstanding between us.

“I’m crazy about you!” I shout down to her. Her head flies up again, and now that she’s closer I can see her dimples as she smiles.

“You—you are?” I nod, the words flowing out of me. It’s funny—I’ve been terrified to tell her this for weeks, and now I don’t think I could stop myself if I tried.

“I am. Like, _so_ crazy. Head over heels crazy. I have been since we met. I just—It all felt so important and new and _big_. I’d been with Champ for so long and suddenly that felt like nothing compared to my feelings for you. We’d just met, we were only just becoming friends, and it was already so different. So much more, right from the start. But I didn’t know how to say that—I didn’t even know how to _think_ that. I—I mean, I’ve never been with a woman, and I’ve always thought that maybe—just maybe, in the back of my head—maybe I’m not straight, but I’d never said it out loud. And all that was so overwhelming, and I was just so scared that you—you wouldn’t feel the same way, or it wouldn’t mean as much to you as it did to me, and then I’d lose this amazing friendship we were building. But then, out on the road yesterday, all that suddenly just felt so _stupid_. And, regardless of anything else, even if you didn’t feel the same, I knew I had to break up with Champ. I couldn’t be with him anymore. But, I swear, I was gonna come talk to you today. I was gonna tell you all this and—"

“Wait,” She interrupts, and I have to bite my lip to stop talking. “That’s what you were doing last night? Breaking up with Champ?”

“Of course,” I continue, but I’m not sure how much she can hear, since she’s climbing towards me again, faster than before. “When I got back this morning, Wynonna said she’d told you I was with Champ, and I just _had_ to find you. I couldn’t let you think that I wanted to be with him anymore. Not after what we said yesterday. Really, I should have told you weeks ago, I know that.” She’s at the top now, pulling herself up just inches from me. I reach out and help her the last bit, bringing her close to me, still talking. “And I’m sorry it took me so long, I really am, but I—” She cuts me off, taking my face in both her hands to kiss me.

She pulls me flush against her, and my hands go to her waist automatically. The first kiss is long and lingering, with enough power to leave us both breathless from just one. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a single kiss that felt unforgettable all on its own, but I know I’ll remember that one forever. She presses her forehead against mine, our lips mere millimeters apart. That moment is magic—pure happiness just from sharing breath together.

Then she kisses me quickly, over and over like she can’t bear to have a moment in between. I move my hands to her face, tracing her cheekbones with my thumbs. I thread my fingers into her hair, tugging gently at the soft strands. She wraps her arms around me, pulling me closer—if that’s even possible. Her fingers sneak under the hem of my shirt, cold and rough on the heated skin of my back, making me gasp. I feel frenzied, wanting to memorize every bit of this moment: Her hands, her fingers, her fingertips. Her mouth, her lips, her tongue. The way all the little parts of her feel against all the little parts of me. It’s too much to take in at once combined with that desperate want for more. It’s the perfect kind of overwhelming.

She pulls away after a while to tell me: “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you.” I open my eyes and get my first look at her like this—up so close her face feels like the entire world.

“Me too,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

“I want this as much as you do, Waverly. It means the world to me. You never have to worry about that. I don’t care who you’ve been with or who you haven’t been with, as long as you want to be here with me, now, like I do.”

“That’s all I want. You’re all I want.” I kiss her first this time, fingers under her chin, bringing her mouth down to mine. I slip my tongue into her mouth, wanting to be as close to her as possible, then even closer than that. She pulls away again, panting:

“Should we—do you want to go somewhere?”

“Is that your tent?”

“Yeah, but—” I kiss her again, hooking my fingers onto her belt, pulling her towards the tent. She pulls her mouth away just enough to say: “Anyone could walk past.”

“I don’t care if you don’t,” I tell her, a little nervous but unable to stop smiling. She laughs, wrapping her arms securely around me. I hook my legs around her waist and she holds me up against her, walking us toward the tent. She opens it, brings us inside, and lays me down, never breaking our kiss. I’m surprised by how soft the ground feels, so I pull away to look around. She’s laid out a truly huge number of blankets, making the inside of the tent feel soft, plush, and comfortable.

“Wow, it’s shockingly nice in here,” I tell her.

“I’m so glad I brought the extra blankets now.” We fall into another kiss, laughing, laying side by side on the blankets. I feel more and more overheated with every second—the warmth of the tent and the heat of her body seeping into me. I pull back and sit up, and she follows me, cheeks flushed and eyes curious. I take off my jacket as quickly as I can, then move to help her with hers.

“Waverly…” My name falls from her lips with reverence, and she shakes her head a little, like it’s the only word left in her mind. I reach to kiss her again, feeling anxiety prickle in my stomach the longer we stay apart. My fingers find their way to the top button of her shirt involuntarily, and I slip it open. I go for the second, then the third, but she stops me with a light hand on my wrist.

“Are you sure about this?” She asks, looking me right in the eyes. “We don’t need to—”

“I know. You’re not rushing me, I promise,” I assure her. “I’m ready for this. I mean, I have no idea what to do, but I’m ready. If you are.” She smiles, gently pushing me down onto the blankets, moving to hover above me.

“Hell yeah, I am,” She whispers, and I laugh giddily as she kisses me. I undo the last few buttons of her shirt and push it over her shoulders. She throws it into the corner and helps pull mine over my head. We stare at each other for a moment, fingers tracing soft curves and hard edges. She’s so beautiful. Dark red hair brushing her shoulders, breasts encased in a lacy blue bra, the line of her hips drawing my gaze to her belt. She bends down slowly, kissing me softly above my bellybutton. She kisses her way up to my chest, and I close my eyes, shifting my awareness from visual to physical—sensual. I can feel my nipples tighten, breasts tingle with eagerness, the rush of dampness in my panties.

“Can I?” She asks, fingers toying with my bra clasp. I nod and she undoes my bra, slips it off, and brings her hands to my breasts. She ghosts her thumb over my nipple, and I gasp, surprised by how much the lightest touch can make me feel. I laugh a little, and she turns her curious gaze to my face.

“What? Doesn’t feel good?”

“It feels incredible.”

“Then what?” She asks, repeating the gesture with both hands and drawing a moan from my lips.

“Nothing, just…I’ve never been so turned on, and we’re both still wearing pants.” She laughs with me, then brings her mouth to my ear, whispering:

“We’re just getting started.” She shifts downward, taking my breast in her mouth, and I moan so loudly I surprise myself. She moves to the other, and I moan even louder. She kisses an arc around my breast, nuzzles me with her nose. A gentle hand palms one breast, calloused fingertips exploring me, while she uses her mouth on the other, licking, sucking. I move my hand to the back of her head, threading my fingers through her hair, encouraging her. I bring my other to her back, tracing the line of her bra.

“Take it off,” She whispers, moving upwards to make it easier for me. I unclasp it, and she takes her hands off me to toss it away. I take in her bare breasts, feel the soft skin there for the first time. I kiss her, tangling my tongue with hers, learning which touches make her gasp and which make her moan. I feel arousal and adrenaline rushing through me, urging me to move faster. I bring my hands to her belt, undo the buckle, and pull her pants off as far as I can, taking her underwear with them. She helps me, taking them off the rest of the way, and I shift my hands to her bare hips, feeling the dip of her hips towards her center, but not yet daring to go that far. Her hands move along my hips, dipping just inside my waistband, skimming the edge of my panties. She waits there long enough I realize she’s waiting for some form of approval.

“Please,” I whisper, somehow knowing she’ll understand. She complies, taking that final step of undressing me, leaving us both naked. We lay like that for a long moment, not touching except for the weight of her hand on my leg, silent save for the sound of our shared breathing, just taking each other in. I look up to her eyes after a minute, and the lust there makes my stomach tighten. Being naked with someone else has always been so incredibly vulnerable for me, and I feel a bit of that now, but the look in her eyes fills me with confidence and a sense of safety. I look back to the rest of her, spending time getting to know every inch.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper. She laughs a little and I drag my gaze up to her eyes again. “What?”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to say that to you,” She tells me. I lean in closer to her, letting myself touch her again.

“You did once, out on my porch, weeks ago…I got off thinking about you that night.” She chuckles, leaning forward to kiss my neck.

“Did you now?” She murmurs into my skin. I nod, words unnecessary since I know she can feel the movement. “I don’t even know how many times I’ve touched myself, wishing my hands were yours. Dreaming about you. Fantasizing.” I glide my hands over her back, tracing little nonsensical shapes with my fingers.

“Well, I’m here now. In the flesh.” I feel her smile against my neck. She leans back just far enough to look me in the eyes.

“Yes, you are,” She breathes the words against my mouth, her brown eyes looking back and forth between mine.

“How do I measure up to the fantasy?” I ask, mostly joking, but feeling a twinge of anxiety. She kisses me once, softly, before answering:

“The fantasies were nice, but you, Waverly Earp, are heavenly.” She kisses me again and I melt into it. We lean into each other, nothing in between us for the very first time. I slide my hands down her back to her ass, pulling her as close as possible, one of her legs slotting between mine. I moan into her mouth at the pressure there, knowing her leg must be wet with my arousal. I let my fingers wander her body, reveling in the reactions I can cause with my touch: A breathy gasp as I nip at her lip, a moan as I skim the side of her breast, a shiver as I run my fingers over her thigh. Her fingers trail down my stomach, heading towards my sex.

“Okay?” She asks, moving her mouth to my throat, sucking lightly there.

“Amazing,” I tell her through a moan. She pulls her leg away, giving her hand better access. She circles my clit with her thumb, skims over it, teasing me. I feel a finger travel down just the slightest bit, heading exactly where I want it to go. Two fingers now, making me pant with anticipation, skating over my entrance. She plunges them inside me, making me throw my head back into the blankets, moaning.

“N—Nicole,” I pant. “That feels—” She draws her fingers back out, then thrusts them back in, setting a perfectly tortuous rhythm. “— _so good_.” She keeps moving, slowly but steadily, and moves her thumb back to my clit. I cry out louder than ever, knowing that if anyone happens to pass by, they’ll definitely be able to hear me, but not caring whatsoever. All my focus is on her, the movement of her long, deft fingers, and the path of her mouth as it travels over my neck and chest. She brings her lips to my ear, whispering:

“Just good?”

“So—so much better than good,” I tell her, barely able to get the words out. She moves faster and I lose the ability for speech altogether.

“C’mon, baby, come,” She murmurs, taking my earlobe between her teeth lightly. And I do, arching my back, moaning loudly into her ear, grasping at the blankets beneath me. As my cry tapers out, she slows down, easing her touch on my oversensitive body. She draws her fingers out of my slowly, kissing my shoulder softly. I bask in the aftershocks for a moment, before a fervid need to make her feel the same way overtakes me. I pull her mouth to mine, kissing her and sighing against her lips:

“I want to make you feel good.”

“Please,” She whispers back. I slide my hand between her legs, but hesitate, unsure of what to do. She puts a finger under my chin, drawing my gaze to hers. “Don’t be nervous, baby. It’s just you and me. Just touch me, and I promise I’ll let you know how it feels.” I nod, moving my hand back towards its destination. I trace my fingers over her, learning the curves and dips of her, finding the nub above her slit. I listen for the replies her body gives to my touch. When her breathing quickens, or she lets out a low, throaty moan, I know she’s telling me I’m doing something right, just like she said she would. I move to her entrance, slowly sliding a finger inside, and note how her hips buck towards me, asking for more. I add another finger, and she sighs in appreciation. Words and exclamations trip out of her:

“Ah, Waverly, baby—” She cuts off as I move my hand faster, a moan overtaking her. I swallow her cries, kissing her, and she kisses me back desperately. I change my pace, taking my cues from her, trying new angles to see what she likes best. She leans in suddenly, pressing her mouth to my neck, and I feel her clench around my fingers, her moisture dripping onto my hand. After a moment, I pull out of her and we kiss, urgently at first, then slowly, melting into each other. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s as if I can feel her gratification in own bones, like helping her find release has satiated me too. I’ve never felt so close to someone in my life. I close my eyes, nuzzling into her neck, feeling safe, blissful, and beyond satisfied.

I wake up later that night—we’d drifted off to sleep for a while, had a second round, then fallen asleep again—and feel her fingers stroking my hair, her mouth pressing feather-light kisses on my temple. I’m reminded of all the places those fingers and that mouth have been tonight, and I feel myself flush all over.

“Hey,” She whispers.

“Hey.”

“I don’t remember the last time I felt this happy,” She tells me. “I don’t think I ever have, really.”

“Me neither,” I admit. I suddenly feel overwhelmed by a rush of guilt.

“What?” She asks, somehow sensing the change in me.

“We could have been doing this _weeks_ ago. We should have been. I’m sorry. I should have —”

“Waverly,” She stops me, shifting so she can bring her gaze to mine. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m not upset. I’m just happy we’re here.” She kisses me softly, and somehow it already feels familiar.

“Me too.”

“We have so much time ahead of us. I don’t care about what could have been, I care about what we have now. And think about it—if we’d done this weeks ago, we wouldn’t have known how important it was.” I nod, my nose brushing hers. “And now…” She trails off, and I can tell she’s not sure how much to say, nervous she’ll be pushing me too far. So I finish her sentence for her:

“Now I’m yours.” She smiles, dimples popping out.

“And I’m yours.”


	8. A Quick Epilogue: Fifteen Thousand Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet of Waverly and Nicole on vacation together a few months later, finally taking the kinds of risks Waverly's always wanted to.

** POV: Waverly **

I look out the window of the tiny plane we’re on, marveling at how far away the rest of the world is. I’ve never been on any type of plane before, so being on one like this is both overwhelming and exhilarating.

Nicole and I are on our first vacation as a couple, which she planned for me as a graduation gift. We’ve spent the last several days swimming far out in the ocean, trying new foods, and spending an inordinate amount of time in bed together. Today—the last day of our trip—I’m trying something new and entirely terrifying: Skydiving.

Nicole mentioned a while ago that she’s a certified skydiving instructor—which really shouldn’t have surprised me at this point—and something clicked in me. I’ve never been able to imagine really doing it, but it’s been a dream in the back of my mind for a long time.

“You nervous?” She asks, as we finish double checking our harnesses. Since she’s certified, we can jump together, Nicole strapped to my back, without anyone else.

“Of course,” I respond. “But mostly excited. We’re gonna parachute out of a plane at fifteen thousand feet. How magical is that?”

“Oh, it’s really only like ten thousand.”

“Is that supposed to be less terrifying? It’s still ten thousand more than I’m used to.” She laughs, strapping my harness to hers, and giving me a quick kiss. It’s true—I am terrified. I honestly don’t know if I could do this if I was with anyone else. But it’s her—my Nicole—so I know we’ll both be okay, no matter what.

“I love you,” I tell her, for what is far from the first time.

“I love you, too, Waves.” She kisses me once more, and then there’s a beeping sound from the intercom. A red light turns on above the door, telling us it’s time to jump. She shuffles us towards the door and pulls it open. The wind whips across my face and my heart pounds.

“Okay, you remember everything we talked about? Make sure you—”

“I remember,” I assure her.

“Alright. You ready?” I take a deep breath and say:

“Ready!”

“Three, two, one—jump!” We leap out together, and then there we are: flying. I’m screaming, the wind is deafening, we’re hurtling through the air at a truly terrifying speed, but I’m in my favorite place in the universe: Nicole’s arms. I couldn’t feel safer. I couldn’t feel more alive. With Nicole, I feel everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it (especially all the references in this epilogue to a favorite Season 1 scene). If you liked it and think I should write something more, let me know! Thanks!


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